How to Make Chicken Stock

I had eaten my victim and there wasn't a court in the land that would convict me. But I wasn't going to take any chances.

Let's face it - it was either me or the chicken. Given the chance, the chicken would have stuffed, baked and carved me up, too! If arrested, I was fully prepared to plead self-defense. After all - how many humans have been murdered by chickens in the past year alone? It was time for someone to take a stand!

But I had to get rid of the evidence. That meant getting the last bit of flavor out of the nearly meatless carcass by boiling it to make chicken stock. Only then could I hide what I had done. Only then could I truly absorb all of the chicken's awesome strength.

The headless fowl lay motionless upon the cutting board. That was a good thing. If it was moving, I might have soiled myself. I diced five stalks of celery and two large carrots because cut veggies tell no tales. I crushed four cloves of garlic because they deserved it. And I rough cut a large onion because...well...onions like it rough.

Then I found my largest pot - the one I use when murdering lobsters - and set it on the stove on medium. I drizzled a little olive oil to barely cover the bottom. That pot loves olive oil and I only wanted to torture it with a taste. Sure, it gets angry - but what's it going to do to me? After drizzling some oil in, I told the pot, "Come and get it if you want some more! You want some oil? Why don't you just try to take it from me? Come on! It's right here!"

By the time I was done taunting the pot, the olive oil was hot but not bubbling. I tossed in the carrots, celery and onion. "What?!?" I said to the pot. "Is your mouth too full to speak? What? You want some more of this?"

After a bit more taunting, the onion became translucent and a little caramelized. Then I added the garlic. The garlic wanted to be with the other vegetables from the start, but I wanted it to wait until the other veggies were dead and mixing flavors. Then, and only then, would the garlic see its dead friends and feel true terror. The look on the garlic when I dumped it into the pot was precious.

A few minutes later, I noticed the garlic just would not die. In frustration, I placed the chicken carcass in the pot and filled the container 3/4 the way up with water. I figured that if I couldn't sautee the garlic to death, maybe I could drown it.

Six of one, a half dozen of the other.

I needed to get every bit of flavor from the bird for the chicken stock, so I weighted it down with glass bread pan. The added benefit, here, is that I could watch and delight in the final, unquestionable demise of my arch-nemesis - the chicken.

What?!? You don't think the chicken would have done the same to me if it had the chance? You don't think it would want a window seat to watch my sinew break apart and separate from my bones? Tell that to my poor Uncle Carl. Poor, poor Uncle Carl.

I dedicated the fluid's rolling boil to my Uncle Carl as I took revenge for my family.

A half hour later, the water level had dropped. I wasn't done with this bird yet, though! I added more water and let it boil some more. Mmmm. The sound of the boil. The smell of the dismembered fowl mixed with the veggies. Just knowing I was the reason they were cut, sliced, crushed and dead was pure ecstasy. I almost needed a cigarette.

I repeated the process every half hour until I had reached two hours total. Then I took the bird out and returned its motionless skeletal remains to the cutting board. While it cooled, I strained out the veggies. They had given their flavor against their will and now I delighted in tossing them in the garbage like...well, like garbage. Then I plucked that last bits of meat off the chicken. The meat went into the chicken stock.

The bones? Well, I had them mounted. They're on the wall in my trophy room. They're a great conversation starter.

Now that I had the chicken stock, I needed to store it. I waited until it cooled, then poured it into some plastic containers. I didn't fill them all the way up - I had to leave room for expansion when I put them in my large stand-up freezer.

I have no remorse for what I've done. I'd do it again. In fact I have done it again. And again. Many times.

Part of the reason is to avenge poor Uncle Carl. The rest of the reason is simple: if I don't do this to chickens, you can bet they would do it to me!